


Bad Decisions

by Bluebox_Parchment



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s15e03 The Rupture, M/M, So much angst, So take that as you will, around and around and around they go, coda fic, i mean i tag it destiel but it's really just show levels of shippy, rip team free will, sam is a very tired brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 16:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21201023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebox_Parchment/pseuds/Bluebox_Parchment
Summary: Short Coda set after 15x03 The Rupture.Maybe this is where it ends: take a bow for the bad decisions that we made, and if we're going down in flames: take a bow for the bad decisions that we made.So we'll make the same mistakes 'til the morning breaks.





	Bad Decisions

He can't bring himself to move. He's not entire sure how long he's sat there, rooted to the table like he's becoming part of it: another piece of petrified wood to sand down and varnish until it were pretty.  
  
He doesn't move until Sam clears his throat behind him. His eyes are rimmed red and puffy. 'Where's Cas?' he asks.  
  
Dean doesn't respond. His brain has been a constant stream of white noise since watching the angel walk out of the bunker. He knows he should answer his brother but for the life of him his voice seems to have left him too.  
  
Sam frowns at him. There's a good chance he's still not moved. 'Dean?' he tries tentatively. 'Dean, where's Cas?'  
  
How can Dean tell him? How can Dean look his little brother in the eye and tell him that he chased away their best friend? How can he admit that once again he'd ruined everything? That he really was poison.  
  
Sam's in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking him. 'Dean?' Sam sounds so scared. It's too much too soon. 'Cas??' he shouts, looking around the bunker, eyes wild and afraid.  
  
'Gone.' His voice doesn't much sound like his own.  
  
Sam looks down at him, his brow furrowed in concern though some of the terror seems to have dissipated slightly. 'Gone? What do you mean_ gone_?' Dean doesn't know if Sam's aware of the accusatory note in his voice.  
  
'I - uh - we...' he pauses, and then the whole exchange slams back into him at a hundred miles a minute and he's crying before he can stop himself. 'It's on me,' he says finally. He's no longer looking at the stairs up which Cas had disappeared. _Left_, a small part of Dean's head tells him. _He finally left you_.  
  
Sam takes a step back, the frown growing ever deeper. He's gonna end up with wrinkles. Something seems to click and he turns his head towards the stairs that Dean hadn't stopped staring at. 'Dean-' he starts warningly but he cuts him off.  
  
'I said it's on me. I did this.' He's finally back on his feet though he doesn't quite know what to do with his newfound momentum.  
  
'What did you do?' There's something sour to Sam's tone: accusatory, worn. Words spoken in an echo to many exhausted fights before.  
  
'What I always do!' Dean shouts, his whole body shaking with his own bad choices. He grabs the nearest object - one of the retro lamps by the weight of it - and launches it across the room. Sam flinches. Dean doesn't care. The glass smashes, the metal clunks loudly against the concrete but it's still not enough.  
  
He picks up a chair next and throws that too, relishing in the sound of splintering wood. 'I can't deal with my own crap so I hurl it at someone else.'  
  
He's going for the laptop on the table when Sam's hands tighten around his wrists and stop him. 'What did you do?' he asks again, sounding exhausted.  
  
The fight drains out of him and he sags in his brother's grip. 'I can't say it again, Sammy.'  
  
Sam sighs, resigned. He lets go. 'He's not coming back, is he?'  
  
Dean feels two great tears slip down his cheeks, through already worn tracks, shakes his head. 'Not for me.'  
  
Sam nods, a sharp jerk of the head. He scrubs a hand down his face. Before Sam can say another word, Dean's voice is rushing out of his mouth without much care for his brain to keep up. 'I told him he was always the problem. He thinks he's dead to me and I-' he shakes his head, closes his eyes because he can't see Sam's face when he adds, 'I didn't try and tell him otherwise.'  
  
Sam's silent. When Dean finally musters the courage to open his eyes and look at him, there's no fight in his brother. 'We're all pissed, Dean. We're all struggling. What with mom, and Jack, and God. And I get that you're hurting right now, I do.'  
  
'But?' Dean asks, his voice hollow. His eyes slide back to the staircase.  
  
'What exactly do you want me to say, Dean? You're an asshole? You fucked up? That it's no wonder Cas left when you've been treating him like shit for years and the poor bastard just put up with it?' He throws his arms in the air. 'But it doesn't matter what I say because you're already tearing yourself to shreds over this. You already know.' He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. 'I had to kill Rowena, Dean. We've all got crap we need to deal with. It's about goddamned time you started to deal with yours.'

Sam leaves him then too and Dean's left in the middle of the Bunker. His chest aches, a deep, agonising ache unlike anything he's ever felt. _Then why does that something always seem to be you?_ he'd said, when what he'd really meant was: _Why is that something always me?_

**Author's Note:**

> Title and Lyrics taken from Bad Decisions by Bastille. A beautiful bop of depressive pop. Check it out if you wanna enjoy the pain with me.  
Find me on Tumblr at pocksized-prophet.tumblr.com though all I do is post dumb memes and wail about destiel ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> ps. i'm always a slut for kudos and comments


End file.
